


I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way (so don't paint me as a villain)

by stravaganza



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: 1980s, 1990s, 2000s, 2010s, Alternate Universe - MI6, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, MI6!Harry Hart, No Dark Characters, No Kingsman, Not Britpicked, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6, no homophobia in my soulmates AUs, no one fucks with what the soulmarks decide, shifting third person POV, villain!Merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-02-16 14:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13055934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stravaganza/pseuds/stravaganza
Summary: Merlin's life as a criminal would be far easier if Harry Hart, gentleman and superspy extraordinaire, would just stop getting in his way and leave him be.Harry Hart's life as a secret agent would be far more boring if Merlin, supervillain and arch-nemesis, were to stop trying to make the world a better place through reprehensible means.Life, of course, already has a plan for them - whether they like it or not.





	1. prelude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgentStannerShipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/gifts).



> You know when you read a prompt and your brain explodes with ideas? That's what happened to me when I read AgentStannerShipper's second prompt for the Kingsman Secret Santa, which was:
> 
> "Merlin is a legitimate, honest to god villain (not dark, he has his reasons). Unfortunately, gentleman spy Harry Hart keeps getting in his way. It'd be easier to stop him if he wasn't so damn attractive. (basically, tons of tension between bad guy!Merlin and good guy!Harry, with bonus points if they meet outside ""work"" and have to pretend to be normal)"
> 
> Sadly, what started in my head as a one shot with mostly comical, over-the-top villianesque plot turned into ten one shots wearing a trench coat and pretending to be a long historically accurate fic, because I've been reading too many Merlahad fanfictions lately and oh, God, what did I get myself into?
> 
> I have no idea how long it will take me to actually finish this, but since it still is a Secret Santa story, I'm starting to post it now so that AgentStannerShipper can at least have the first bits in time for the holidays. May they be merry and joyful!

If there was one thing Harry Hart despised more than having to listen to Chester King talk like he owned the whole of MI6, that would be clichés - which was fucking ironic considering his life seemed to be a collection of the bloody things.

His army days had been mostly uneventful until he had almost single handedly saved his unit from an IED explosion, which had been a spot of pride back in the day but, in retrospect, felt like something out of a bad war movie. He had been a rookie, and it had been nothing but luck that had him spot the IED, the recklessness of youth what had pushed him to disarming the device while his unit ran for cover. His commanding officer had nearly bitten his head off afterwards, before Harry was awarded with a medal for “exceptional heroic deeds”, and his “keen observation senses” caught the eye of the MI6.

From them on his life turned from a bad war movie into a honest to god bad spy novel. He had been top of his class in almost every part of the training, he had saved princesses and their kingdoms, he had romanced a hundred people and had had too many paramours to count them all, and more recently he had acquired a young protégé that looked at him like he was the sun, because of course he had to go and pick the boy up from the streets - almost literally so - and change his life for what he hoped would be the better.

Ah, and how to forget? He had a _ bloody nemesis _ .

A man that was the textbook definition of a villain. Tall, charming, sexy accent, shaved bald, handsome as the devil and twice as clever.

And. Well. There was that other matter, of course.

Harry looked at his inner wrist were his soulmark sat, looking as innocent as an umbrella could, and then looked back at the man lying next to him, still fast asleep. Faint stubble at his temples highlighted his receded hairline, giving him an unfamiliarly soft look, and Harry’s eye fell to the hand curled palm up besides the man’s relaxed face and down to his wrist, from where a matching mark seemed to taunt Harry.

Yes.  _ That _ matter.

Honestly? Fuck his life and whomever wrote the script for it. They clearly needed a creative counselor.


	2. well, as first meetings go...

**1981**

Merlin wasn’t a bad person.

No, really. He wasn’t.

Unless he really couldn’t help it.

Like in this instance.

Had anyone bothered to ask him, he would have loved to explain (in depth) the reasoning behind his actions. Except, of course, no one knew about his plan. No one knew about _him_ , probably. Merlin didn’t have friends or family, and he liked things to stay that way. He didn’t even have colleagues - accomplices, if you must - as he preferred to run every operation by himself, because he knew no one else was as reliable as oneself.

It was part of the reason he had never looked for his soulmate: he didn’t want to involve them in anything untowards but he also didn’t want to have to hide that part of himself, to justify it. It was nobody's business if he knew he could make the world a better place, even if that often required unorthodox methods.

The fact that many would call him a criminal didn’t bother him in the slightest. Merlin was many things, but he wasn’t delusional. He never had been. He had been more than aware, from the get go, that most of his “unorthodox methods” were crimes, pure and simple. There was no reason to sugar coat it. However, Merlin also believed the world to be made of shades of grey. Anyone who believed in things being either black or white was a naive fool. Nothing was so clean-cut. As such, Merlin fancied himself as a bit of a modern times Robin Hood of sorts.

Of course, Merlin didn’t just steal from the rich to give to the poor, despite enjoying bank heists more than he probably should. He also did less acceptable things, even if they were just as good for people in the long run.

Strategic assassinations _could_ be for the greater good. If this one went well, he would take care to expand his interests further. After all, if the numbers he had ran were correct, Margaret Thatcher run as Prime Minister would only help the rich and make things even more miserable for people like him, unless she suddenly changed her ways or was taken out of the way. Needless to say which option was more likely.

Merlin fixed the scope on top of the rifle and set the tripod, aiming for St. Paul’s main entrance and calibrating his weapon. The moment The Iron Lady showed up, Merlin would see it that her policies would be stopped before they could ruin the country.

He had never taken a life, and yet he couldn’t help the faint thrill he felt running down his spine as he realised that he was about to change the world. Merlin smiled and set to wait.

“You know,” a voice came from behind him, startling Merlin enough that he twisted around with wide eyes, “I don’t think you were invited to this wedding. It’s very rude to sneak into a party you aren’t supposed to attend to.”

The man standing across the empty room couldn’t be much older than he was. He wore a double breasted charcoal suit with a blood red tie and matching pocket square, his face framed beautifully by a cloud of fluffy, artfully tousled curly hair.

When Merlin stood and took a step back from the rifle, ready to pull his calibre 22 revolver out of his pocket at a moment’s notice, he noticed they were also of similar height and build. If they were to engage in a fight, it would be evenly matched at best. Especially because it was highly unlikely the man had just happened to stroll into the vacated building, shut down in the same way half of London was, in celebration of the royal couple. That was what had made the spot, the occasion so perfect. Getting in position had been so easy… and now a man showed up right as the real work was about to start? That meant trouble.

Government mandated trouble.

“Who said anything about _attending_ the party?” Merlin said, moving a few steps to the side, watching as the man matched each one of them, so that they were circling each other.

Merlin stopped and narrowed his eyes, and that only seemed to widen the smug smirk on the stranger’s handsome face.

“Perhaps I should have said that a gentleman isn’t supposed to crash a party he wasn’t invited to, then?” the man said, blinking innocently at Merlin.

“What makes you think I’m a gentleman?” Merlin retorted, gesturing at himself, at the leather jacket and dark wool trousers he wore, a stark contrast to the stranger’s elegance.

His response only seemed to amuse the man further, so much that he chuckled and tilted his head to the side.

“Fair enough. I suppose it’s up to me to proceed with the formalities, isn’t it?” he asked, but didn’t wait for a response as he took a step forward. “My name is Harry Hart. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr…?” He trailed off, waiting for a name with a raised eyebrow.

Merlin didn’t step back, knowing that if a scuffle ensued he wouldn’t have time to both subdue the stranger and reposition his rifle, so keeping this Harry Hart away from the weapon was paramount. Merlin _could_ just try and use his pistol, but he wasn’t a fool and he knew it wouldn’t be as easy as that. And, without a silencer, the noise of a gunshot would only alarm the patrols all around the church. Security was predictably tight and the last thing he needed was for someone to be alerted and put the cathedral in lockdown with all its precious guests inside.

Merlin had a narrow window of opportunity to act, after the wedding was over and the bride and groom left: that was when the illustrious guests would leave the premises, and when he was more likely to get a clean shot at his target. His only hope was to subdue his enemy while the ceremony was still ongoing, then reposition himself and do his job.

He didn’t have much time at all.

“You may call me Merlin, if you really must address me in any way,” he replied smoothly, taking a step of his own towards the man, and then sideways so he was standing between him and the rifle. “How may I help you today, then? You don’t look like a cop and you certainly don’t work here,” Merlin continued, gesturing to the office space.

Harry smirked, amused. “You got that from the cost of my suit or from the fact that the office is closed for the day?” he asked, shifting his weight on his heels and moving his hands as if to slip them in his pockets.

“Ah ah ah, none of that, now,” Merlin said, a smile curling his lips and exposing his teeth. “I don’t know much about manners, but I reckon it’s unbecoming of a gentleman to treat others like they’re fools.”

That seemed to earn him a genuine chuckle, but his opponent did stop his hands from sliding into his pockets, letting them smooth the creaseless fabric of his trousers with a whisper of skin on cloth.

“Bugger. I suppose you’re right. I’m still new to actually adhering to the etiquette, after years doing my absolute best to break every single rule in the book,” Harry said, shaking his head. “But manners maketh man, as they say, and I don’t intend to become a condescending man. Not for a while, at least.”

Had Merlin’s guard not been so high, he would have been terribly confused. Who was this man, what business did he have there, and why the hell was he making inane small talk? Surely he was trying to waste time, so that Merlin would lose his (literal) shot.

“You know, Mr Hart, as much as it would be entertaining to have a chat with you, I’m afraid I’m a very busy man. Perhaps another time, with a lovely cuppa tea?” Merlin offered, gesturing to his rifle as if that would make the man leave him alone.

“Oh, please, Mr Hart is that stuck up prick I call father. Do call me Harry,” the man said, his smile never losing its good natured curve, nor the sharp edge underneath the pleasant façade. It was the kind of smile that clearly said _not only I can’t wait to put a bullet in you, but I’m also picturing doing so right now_. Somehow it managed to still look pleasant on the man’s clean shaved face.

“You should leave, Mr Hart,” Merlin insisted, now that he knew the title was grating for the man. Not that he seemed to actually care about anything, his face unreadable under his smirk. “I’m on a really tight schedule and I’d rather not get angry today.”

Truth was, Merlin wasn’t at all well versed with hand-to-hand combat. Most of his experience came from brawls, with dirty tricks all but learned on the streets, and he had little hope that he could actually subdue Harry with his limited skills. Merlin had a feeling that under his suit Harry was stronger and more versatile than he looked, his debonair appearance perfectly tailored to minimise the perceived threat.

It surely would have fooled lesser men.

As it was, Merlin stood his ground, hoping to use his broader shoulders and slight height advantage to intimidate his opponent into leaving, despite being fully aware of how unlikely that scenario was. Which was why Merlin was already thinking of which of the many escape routes he had prepared beforehand would serve him best, grimacing inwardly at the foregone conclusion.

Harry gave a breathy laugh at Merlin’s words, batting his eyelashes coyly. “Oh, I’m sure anger would be a terrible look on you.”

Whether he was trying to shock a reaction out of Merlin - embarrassment, anger, disgust - or not, the Scotsman didn’t let himself be riled up. He ran a hand over his scalp, still unused to the feeling of bare skin rather than thin hair, and scoffed like nothing in this world concerned him.

From what he could assess, Merlin knew things could go in one of two ways: either he got what information he could from Harry and fled before a confrontation had the chance to start; or he was overestimating Harry and he actually had nothing to worry about. Somehow, Merlin doubted the second option was very likely.

“You know, I’m not here for the happy couple, if that’s what worries you,” Merlin said, working his jaw into a tight smile. “You needn’t worry about the Crown. I quite like the Princess, actually.” Far more than he liked their prince, at any rate.

Harry hummed and looked around as if he didn’t perceive Merlin to be a threat. Another attempt at riling him up, most likely, and it felt flat just like the others. Really, Merlin ought to be offended Harry was dealing with him like one would with a common thug.

Merlin hadn’t pulled off his first big heist at 17 just so a posh pretty boy could underestimate him.

When he didn’t move a muscle, neither tensing nor relaxing, Harry finally let out a sigh and said, “Unfortunately for you, my job demands that I stop you, no matter who you want to off - nor whether they deserve it or not.”

“And what would your job be, pray tell?” Merlin tried, with little hope of getting a valuable answer out of the man.

“Stopping people like you from committing crimes,” Harry replied easily.

“People like me?” Merlin asked with a raised eyebrow, amused.

“Villains,” Harry offered, making the Scotsman snort.

“This isn’t a Bond movie, Mr Hart.”

“Weird, I thought it would be seen how you keep calling me by my last name.” Harry batted his eyelashes at him again, and Merlin decided that even if he hadn’t been facing him off in a potentially deadly situation, he wouldn’t like Harry Hart.

“Be as it may, life isn’t as black and white as it is in movies. I would be doing the country a favour by getting rid of our Iron Lady.”

A flash of interest lit Harry’s eyes, and if his age hadn’t already, that would have given away just how new to his profession he was. He thought he had Merlin, not knowing that Merlin had already given his plan up and was, first and foremost, trying to get out with his skin.

“That’s your opinion, and although I don’t share it, I can understand why you’d think that. Many think her conservative stance will only be trouble, but that’s politics for you.”

“Of course you wouldn’t care,” Merlin said, feeling sweat prickle at the back of his head, the sensation unfamiliar. “Posh pricks like you don’t have much of a care, as long as power stays within the high and mighty, huh?”

Harry’s smirk widened a bit. “What makes you think I’m a ‘posh prick’?” he asked.

“The fact that you’re wearing a three piece suite in this heat and look like the sun has personally inconvenienced you by making England warm for once,” Merlin deadpanned.

“Maybe so. Or maybe my job just requires me to always be dressed to the nines, should the need for it arise. If I were to head to a wedding, for instance…”

Merlin narrowed his eyes, and something clicked in his mind. “You were at the wedding.”

Harry made a non-committal noise.

Merlin would have relaxed, but who went looking for trouble instead of enjoying a free banquet at the Queen’s expanse? “What gave me away?” he asked instead, shuffling a bit backwards.

“You forgot to take the sun into account, and you set up too soon. I saw the glint of your scope from a mile away, as would have any properly trained agent,” Harry said casually, like he was just giving him pointers on how to reel a fish in rather than set up a sniper rifle for an assassination.

“Agent?” Melrin asked, and it was his turn to raise an eyebrow in interest, the gesture perfectly calculated. “Not military, then.” As he’d suspected. A soldier would be able to notice an enemy rifle, would be trained to do so, but the wording meant more than that. It meant _spy_.

Harry went for his curious, wide-eyed stare once more, and it was getting old pretty fast for Merlin’s tastes.

When the man straightened his back and shifted his stance in a way that might’ve seemed casual, Merlin gave a smile of his own, baring his teeth. He took another minute step back.

“Well, as nice as this chat was, Mr Hart… I’m afraid I’ll have to cut it short,” he said, putting his hands in his pocket.

“Oh? Are you in a rush?” Harry said, probably suspecting he’d try and attack him. Merlin shifted closer to the rifle, planted his feet on the ground, and let him believe it.

“Maybe. But I also think we shouldn’t drag this out.” Merlin glanced outside the window, were his rifle was propped on the windowsill, and at the crowd gathered on the sidewalks and kept back by dozens of policemen. “You know what they say… you never get a second chance to make a great first impression.”

With that, his smirk growing even more, Merlin threw out one foot and kicked the tripot out from under the rifle, upsetting the weapon and sending it hurdling out the window. It landed with a loud metallic clang on the people assembled beneath, but by the time the sound of startled and panicked screaming reached their floor, Merlin was already turning and running towards the window behind him.

It had been the one exit route he hoped not to use, and yet there he was, flinging himself out through the glass, which he had weakened in advance. The shards flew around him, shining in the bright daylight like the diamonds on the Princess’ tiara, Merlin’s stomach swooping for a moment as gravity took hold of him, before he managed to grab the rope ladder he had left swinging from the nearby building. It swayed for a moment, his momentum slamming him into the rough wall and leaving him winded as he dangled over an alley, but he quickly got his wits back and hurried down the pegs. He jumped off when he was a couple of feet from the ground, glancing up to see Harry Hart halfway out the smashed window, looking down at him with a wide eyed stare that, for once, wasn’t calculated, and he grinned at the man, winking and saluting him with a finger before turning and letting the panicked crowd drag him away.

By the time Merlin got home, it was dark out. He had lost himself, allowing the human river to take him far from the church, letting himself slip in a Tube station a few miles from it, just for good measure, before riding three trains in three different directions. He had then changed his clothes, having left some ready for his escape at the public loo in Blackfriars Station, and rode four more trains just to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

Merlin was careful to avoid the security cameras in and outside the station, because if Harry Hart really had been a spy like he presumed, he would have no problems checking any footage to find him. Merlin was suddenly glad for his paranoia as he pulled his hat further down over his ears, remembering how he’d felt like an idiot for shaving his head in a coffee shop’s toilet at six in the morning. Now, at least, there would be no footage of a bald man leaving his flat to commit a crime. Maybe he would still be found, maybe not, but he hadn’t planned on staying in the same place anyway. He would go on according to his original plan, like he would have if the assassination had carried out without trouble. He had an escape plan, enough funds to lay low for a long while, and a nice safe house in Ireland, where he planned on spending some time taking care of IRA.

When he got home, though, he couldn’t help but wonder about Hart. He wished there were a way for him to remotely access the feed of the many CCTV cameras that had begun blooming across town like metal flowers, sure that if he could peer into the system he would eventually find footage of Harry waltzing into Vauxhall like it was no one’s business. As it was, he had to head downstairs to the nearest phone box so he could leaf through the directory, searching for any signs of the man, only finding out the address to a Hart estate.

Posh prick indeed.

Merlin filed what he knew about the young man in one of his notebooks, doodling a portrait of him and deciding he would dig further after some time had passed. For now, he had a train to catch in the morning, and then a plane, and he really should sleep.  At least his bags were ready.

As he settled into bed, falling into an uneasy rest, he thought about what a dirty trick destiny had pulled on him. He just _had_ to meet Harry Hart, didn’t he? Had the weather been overcast, there would have been no telltale glint of metal, and he would have carried out his assassination without a hitch.

But that might have been a blessing in disguise. No matter how many precaution Merlin was going to take, always; he now knew for certain one could never be too careful, and he knew whatever secret intelligence agency Hart worked for now knew about him. That meant being twice as careful, of course, but it also gave Merlin a knowledge of who he was up against - or, rather, who was up against him - rather than leaving him looking over his shoulder from an invisible enemy who might not even be there. They had taken notice of him, sure, but he had no intention of remaining in the spotlight for long.

He curled up in his bed and closed his eyes resolutely. _Next time_ , he told himself as he thought of Hart’s smug little smirk, all but impressed behind his eyelids. _Next time I won’t let him interfere_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, Diana and Charles' wedding was on a cloudy day, but I needed the sun for dramatic purposes. And that's why this is an AU.
> 
> Also, yes, Merlin /is/ a genius/prodigy who started his criminal career very young. Otherwise what kind of villain story would this be?


	3. stardust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~fuck if this isn't a long time coming~~ I want to apologise to Remy for the delay and thank them for their infinite patience. I can only hope this chapter will be worth the wait! (In my defence, it didn't know when to end.)
> 
> The scene that turned this story into a long fic is in this one. Enjoy!!

**1987**

It had been years since Harry had heard the name “Merlin” spoken in the offices of Vauxhall. Years since what he considered his first successful mission. Years since he’d met the disconcerting young man, barely more than a boy and already looking so weathered by the world, cunning enough to nearly carry out the assassination of Britain’s Prime Minister without anyone at MI6 ever even considering the possibility something like that might happen.

However, just because it had been years since anyone had mentioned the boy, that didn’t mean Harry had stopped thinking about him. He was doing a great job at laying low, obviously, having all but disappeared from any radars. He had left London, undoubtedly, and Harry wondered how many steps ahead he was from everyone else. His escape hadn’t been improvised, surely, and there were no official documents bearing a picture of anyone resembling his description. He was sure to have a fake passport, and besides that, his youth and shaved head would throw them off his scent.

Harry kept a facial composite of the young man in his office, staring at it from time to time to try and imagine how Merlin would look now, five years older. He had described all he could remember about him to the department’s composite artist, and the likeness was good enough he had the picture printed and put out throughout the organisation so they would keep an eye out for him. Something told Harry that Merlin wasn’t one to give up easily, and if a boy that young was already up and attempting assassinations, nothing good could come from it.

To everyone’s surprise, they had tied some robberies and bank heists to the young man, which explained how he could afford to disappear without leaving a huge papertrail in his wake, and many agreed they were probably witnessing the next great criminal mastermind of the century being born.

Harry had been staring at the graphite portrait, absentmindedly rubbing the soulmark on his inner wrist with his thumb like he often did when he was lost in his thoughts - in this particular instance, thoughts about the boy’s eyes being all wrong in the drawing, too dull and completely missing the keen intelligence that had shone behind them - when a knock came to his door, startling him slightly.

“Marcus,” he greeted his colleague, the man in question leaning against the doorframe with a bemused little smile on his lips.

“Caught you thinking about your little wizard again?” the man teased goodnaturedly, tapping the palm of his hand with the closed side of a manila folder.

Harry didn’t even raise to the bait anymore. He was a good agent, and the only reason Merlin’s picture was the only one in his office was because he had apprehended or neutralised any other criminal he had chased - and he would get Merlin, too. Eventually.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked instead, reaching for the paper cup sitting by his elbow and taking a sip of his now-cooled tea, grimacing at the taste.

Marcus sobered up and pushed off the doorframe, straightening his spine. “Mr King would like to see you. He has a mission for you.”

Harry hummed through his nose. It was surprising he would be given a mission so soon after his last one, which he had completed less than a week prior, but he wasn’t one to complain. He’d rather work more than less, especially considering how boring everything was whenever he wasn’t running through a hail of bullets.

“Marvellous. I’ll be right there,” he said, sitting up in his chair, draining his tea with another grimace of disgust as the cold liquid seemed to freeze a path all the way to his stomach.

Marcus nodded and took his leave, his blond hair trailing after him. Harry dropped the now empty cup in his bin, stretched his back languorously, and then slid his jacket back on, making sure it fell comfortably over the double holsters tucked beneath each of his arms.

He headed to the conference room and prepared for yet another debrief, wondering how a man could make such an exciting job seem so droll. He stopped to get another cup of tea on the way there, needing to get the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach out of his gut, and when he finally strolled in the office he was met by the irritated gaze of his boss from the head of the table.

“Worry not, Mr Hart, we’re all here at your leisure,” the old man said as he looked at Harry from over the black rim of his glasses.

Harry smiled pleasantly and sat down on the chair at the man’s immediate right. “I just wanted to make sure I was equipped for our meeting, however long it might be,” he said easily, leaning back in his seat. He turned to greet the other people gathered in the room with a polite nod of his head that not everyone returned.

Chester knew it was a lost cause, and so began to explain the details of the mission in his usual monotone. “There have been some news of unrest in East Berlin, where some Wall patrolling officers have been found dead at or around certain checkpoints with gunshot wounds, no doubt from people trying to trespass into West Berlin.”

Typical of King, Harry thought, to think that people trying to get back to their estranged families or looking for a better quality of life than that offered by the Soviets would be trespassers. Just because the authorities had decided no one should be allowed to cross the Wall didn’t make it right. Still, Harry supposed, neither it was right to kill guards who were just doing their job. Although, at the same time, with what the last special police forces had done to the city and to Germany as a whole…

 _Life isn’t as black and white as it is in movies_ , a voice supplied at the back of his head, its Scottish accent marking the words. Harry had learnt that lesson all too well in but a few years working as a spy, and he still marvelled at a teenage boy having figured that out before he had. He often wondered what kind of life Merlin must have lead, to bring him to a path he had apparently started down on without hesitation.

“Either someone is supplying them with weapons privately, or one of the many nations involved in that mess is trying to stir up trouble. We are going to send you in, Mr Hart, in hopes you’ll find out the truth about what’s really happening in Berlin.”

“Of course,” Harry said easily, as if he hadn’t just spaced out in the middle of the explanation.

Chester wasn’t done, apparently, because he carried on. “We also suspect that boy you reported a few years ago may be involved. What was his name?” he said casually, dropping the news like Harry hadn’t been waiting to get the little bastard for years.

“Merlin?”

“Yes, that. Merlin,” Chester repeated, making a face like he had tasted something foul. “We might have proof that ties him to the Harrods bombings.”

Harry’s stomach dropped for a moment, and then swooped back up in a wave of rage he had to do his best to fight. “With all due respect, sir, why wasn’t I told about this? I’ve been searching for him for years!” He couldn’t believe there had been news since ‘83 and they had been kept from him.

“We didn’t want to fuel your _obsession_ , especially since we had no concrete evidence,” Chester said matter-of-factly, only managing to make Harry more irate.

“But you must have something, you wouldn’t just go out on a limb with this,” Harry reasoned, trying his best to smooth his voice back into a composed tone.

“We have a phone call from a man with a Scottish accent. Not much at all to go on,” Chester insisted, and Harry had to grind his teeth together to keep from commenting how there couldn’t be _that_ many Scotsmen in the _Irish_ Republican Army, not even with their shared dislike for England.

“You could at least have mentioned it.”

“And have you waste four years looking for him in Ireland rather than focus on the missions we actually assigned you to? No,” Chester shook his head. “What would have been the point?”

Harry let a huff of air out of his nose, leaning over to fold his hands over the table. “May I at least listen to said phone call? I assume there’s a recording somewhere in the official police reports?” he inquired, his usual veneer of politeness back in place, although not without some effort.

Chester gestured at a petite red-haired woman who had been waiting in a corner. Rose, one of the many lab assistants - or was she from the tech department? - put a tape recorder on the table in front of Chester and pressed play on it.

A voice soon came from the device, and despite the light crackle of static, the tinny quality of the sound, and the fact that it had deepened considerably since he’d last met him, to Harry that voice was unmistakably Merlin’s.

“ _Listen, there isn’t much time. There’s a bomb in one of the cars parked in front of Harrods department store and it will go off in about thirty minutes. You have no reason to believe me, but you have to. The IRA has been planning this for months, but they only chose the target today. There’s another bomb inside the store, I don’t know where. I don’t know what model car they chose, but I know what registration plate they were going to use. You must evacuate the area as fast as you can. Worse case scenario, I’ve provided you with an excuse for a drill. Best case, you’ll save innocent civilian lives. The plate is…_ ”

“It’s him,” Harry confirmed, a touch of wonder in his voice. To know that Merlin _was_ still out there, still on the wrong path… it sent a thrill down Harry’s spine, because he realised all his time he _had_ been obsessing over the younger man, but it hadn’t been for nothing.

The exchange continued briefly, mostly consisting in the police trying to gauge Merlin’s identity while the boy insisted it didn’t matter and that they should hurry up and clear the premises. Then the line went dead, and the dial tone was replaced by the rustle of empty tape rolling.

“It was him,” Harry confirmed again, “I’m positive.” Then, after a beat, he had the common sense to add, “As sure as I can be after six years, anyways.” It wouldn’t do to sound _too_ obsessed, after all.

Even though he was.

Harry wasn’t a complete fool, no matter what people liked to whisper about him behind his back: he was well aware that his fixation was nothing good, that he should let it go and allow it to slip. But Merlin had been his first mission, the first mark he couldn’t apprehend or terminate, the first person who had challenged him and won; that was more than enough to make him have Harry’s attention, and hold it.

Unlike anyone else he had ever met, Merlin was _interesting_.

“That’s rather peculiar, wouldn’t you think?” Chester said, his voice as aloof as ever.

Harry _hated_ it. He despised Chester for the way he always acted like nothing concerned him, like any mission he sent his agents on wasn’t dangerous enough that it could be their last. Like there weren’t lives at stake whenever they went out there and saved the world, or even when they were just retrieving important data or building connections. And right then, he was talking about something concerning civilian lives, like he couldn’t care less about terror attacks in the very heart of London - no, not like, he absolutely _didn’t_ care.

Being detached and professional was one thing, cold indifference quite another.

Harry gave a tight smile that didn’t show his teeth. “What do you mean, sir?” he asked, as politely as he could manage.

“Why would he place a bomb and then tell everyone about it?” Chester asked as he brought his elbows to the table, folding his hands beneath his chin but without resting it on his entwined fingers, his spine still as straight as ever and his keen gaze on Harry as he made a point to slump a bit in his chair and shrug inelegantly.

“I suppose our best chance at finding out is by getting to him, don’t you?” he pointed out.

Chester hummed, sounding doubtful, but waved for Rose to take away the tape recorder. She did so, and Harry felt his dislike for Chester grow a bit further at the way he dismissed her like one would a servant. His elitism knew no bounds, clearly, and Harry wished his generation of snobs and classist pricks would just snuff out like a candle all at once.

“You’ll be leaving tomorrow,” Chester said, folding his hands again. “Go to our quartermaster to get what you might need, and be sure to read the mission file thoroughly before leaving. The situation in Berlin is tense, tenser than it has been since the war I’d wager, and you’ll need to be careful. Find out who’s stirring trouble, and if it really is this Merlin fellow, terminate him.”

Harry’s back stiffened at those words, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.” The idea filled him with dread, for some reason, and it conflicted with the excited thrill at the prospect of possibly seeing the Scotsman again.

“Very well. Dismissed.”

Harry nodded curtly and stood up. He didn’t spare another glance in Chester’s direction, and ignored the snicker coming from a few of the senior agents at his hasty retreat. If they thought it was due to his eagerness to get to Merlin, well, it was none of his business. They could do what they wanted with those small minds of theirs.

* * *

Berlin wasn’t how Harry had imagined it. He had heard stories a breath away from horrific, of a town still treated like a warzone, but when he arrived he didn’t see that.

There were posters and graffiti chanting about tearing down the Wall, and there were signs and armed guards patrolling it that very clearly said it would not be a good idea to approach the structure too closely, but other than that it was… terribly normal. No fires in the streets, no fights, no protesting people nor the sound of guns shooting like he had been lead to believe from other agents who had visited the city while on a mission. Harry had quickly realised those agents, all many years his senior, had probably been describing Berlin as it was a few years after the end of the war, before the Wall was even built, and hadn’t been back since.

There was no rubble in the streets now, no damaged infrastructures, and everything seemed as calm as it would be in any other major city - if one ignored the fact that everyone thought it was a powder keg ready to explode, even more so now that guards had started showing up dead at the border patrols.

Whether Merlin had anything to do with it or not remained to be seen, but as Harry stared at the imposing barrier he thought that it couldn’t be right to keep a city so vast separated like that.

He snapped a picture of the colourful street art decorating the Wall as one of the armed guards approached him with a lowered machine gun slung around his neck, saying something in German that Harry pretended he couldn’t understand. He ran a hand through his hair, doing his best to look the part of the posh, naive English student spending the summer on the Continent to broaden his worldviews as he asked, “I’m sorry, what?” with a candid smile.

The guard sighed and took him gently by the elbow, turning him away from the Wall and pointing in the direction of the streets, a gesture eloquent enough to need no verbal explanation.

Harry let out a sound of understanding and smiled at the guard, nodding at him. “Sorry!” he said, and the guard called him a fool under his breath as he returned to his post.

He walked away from the Wall and pocketed his camera, looking around with interest. The hotel he was staying at was one of those luxurious places meant for rich tourists and the city was bustling with activity. The report Harry had read mentioned it was the 750th anniversary from the city’s foundation, and both sides of Berlin had been staging plays, concerts, operas, and a great number of other events of cultural significance. There was always something new to do, and Harry _loved_ it. He had spent a month there and he had yet to tire of it, unlike the time he had been sent to Paris - pretty, but highly overrated in his opinion. He had already filled several rolls of film with photographies of his time in Berlin, his cover story giving him the perfect excuse to do just that.

The lovely weather he had experienced in May had started to turn warmer, but Harry still needed to wear light jumpers to walk around and even wear a jacket in the evenings. Summer was just beginning, and already he could tell it wouldn’t be as damp and stifling as it always was in England.

Harry had almost started to hope Merlin would never show up and that he would get to stay in town for months yet before he was called back to London.

But of course, there was still a lot of sleuthing to be done, and Harry hadn’t forgotten his mission.

Going from West to East Berlin was surprisingly easy, for a tourist. The only thing he had to do was get on one of Berlin’s subway line 6 trains and get off at Friedrichstrasse station. Once there he just had to show his fake passport to the gatekeepers, and then do the same to go back. The tunnels ran straight past the Wall, and it was almost weird to be able to bypass the barrier in such a simple way. Especially when, on the other side of the surveilled gates, he could see guards armed with machine guns and with dogs on their leash, and kept a close eye to the few gathered East-berliners waiting for friends or family coming to visit after being separated by concrete for who knew how long.

The implications were clear: any East-berliner who tried to desert their side of town would have to face the Soviet wrath.

The first time Harry had crossed that line, he had realised just what people meant when they called Berlin a timebomb. He hoped things would never come to what some feared - to violent revolts and protests sedated in blood, like it so often happened in such cases - but he also knew it was up to him to avoid that, finding whomever was behind the weapons trade that was supplying the rebellious factions of East-berliners.

The first time Harry had gone to the other side, he had also realised why so many people were desperate enough to leave it that they would take up arms and fight tooth and nail just for a chance to get away.

Many buildings had clear signs of having been recently restored, but the majority still showed signs from the war and stood in various states of decay. Some looked ready to crumble, while others looked like they just needed a good hand of paint. Harry had no idea in what conditions the interiors were, if the pretty façades were just that - a façade to pretend everything was right - and he wondered at the way people there seemed to walk with their heads bowed and without meeting his eye a lot more than they did in West Berlin.

Harry had studied the Wall day and night, keeping an eye on the sentries, learning their shifts from the shadows, looking for blind spots and entry points, but he hadn’t found any. Surveillance was very tight in the subway tunnels as well, with heavy bolts and padlocks on the service doors maintenance workers used, and patrolling guards. The only other access points to East Berlin were a road with controls as tight as any border patrol’s and surprisingly, as Harry had recently found, via garbage trucks.

As it turned out, what East Berlin lacked in money it made up for in space, and so West Berlin paid them to take their trash and keep it. There were controls too, of course - they checked the drivers’ documents, the cab of the truck, but Harry would have bet no one actually checked the odorous load for more than a few moments, if at all - and the dump itself was surrounded by a high fence with barbed wire, according to his sources. But just like he had acquired all those informations, so could have Merlin or whomever else was behind this trade, and how hard could it be to find soldiers who’d take bribes to pretend they didn’t notice things being smuggled into the city?

That or the weapons weren’t coming from West Berlin at all, but from the other side of East Berlin. The city was surrounded by forests and lakes, after all, and the Polish and Hungarian factions of East Berlin were growing more and more impatient to knock back the Russians, with small attempts at revolts.

So, it was either Merlin or one the neighbouring countries financing said revolts; Harry knew without a doubt which option he was hoping for, since he wasn’t looking forward to another World War.

Harry stopped by a bar before he returned to his hotel, after another walk around town, but as usual he couldn’t get much information. One couldn’t exactly go around and ask people in bars whether they knew where to find smuggled contraband guns, after all - and believe that Harry had tried. He had spent countless nights in the seediest locals he could find on both sides of the Wall, and yet no one had seemed willing to let anything slip, other than a drunk woman whom he had easily seduced into talking about her husband, a garbage truck driver, and his job.

It wasn’t worth a month of wait to get just that tiny sliver of information, but at least now Harry had something more than absolutely _nothing_ to offer Arthur, and he had a starting point to conduct actual research. Mostly, though, he was just thankful that MI6 had the means to fund his prolonged stay in Berlin, and that they hadn’t yet aborted the mission.

That day, though, instead of being in the bar for information, Harry was simply looking forward to a refreshing drink to ward off the heat. Inside he met a group of men and women about his age, all clamoring about the concert they were going to attend that night. They invited Harry along, and he nodded with enthusiasm - and the clueless smile of those who didn’t understand a language quite fully.

Which he wouldn’t have needed to, even if he didn’t actually speak German perfectly, because in that particular instance there was no linguistic barrier that could have kept him from understanding. And besides, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been planning to attend said concert ever since he had first heard about it a couple of weeks prior.

Harry returned to his room and headed straight for the en suite, eager to take a shower and get ready for the evening. He left his clothes in a pile on the sink countertop and washed up quickly, blow-drying his hair until it was sticking up and looking very fluffy. He added just a touch of hairspray so it wouldn’t lose volume too quickly, and then he picked up his long-distance radio communicator and called Vauxhall while he finished getting ready.

“ _Harry?_ ” Marcus’ voice came through the line with a crackle of static, to Harry’s relief; he definitely did _not_ want to have to deal with Chester King.

“You’ve been demoted to secretary, then?” Harry quipped as he put on a snow white shirt that he only buttoned up to his sternum.

“ _Oh, yes, and you’ve been demoted to cleaning lady, effective immediate. Come back here_ ,” the man said with a good natured laugh, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Am I supposed to report to you?” he asked as he slipped on a pair of pants and tight jeans with large patches of denim torn and ripped. He was fiddling with a black leather belt when Marcus replied in the affirmative.

As Harry told Marcus about his findings and his hypothesis, he also finished dressing up. He added a thick leather cuff to his right wrist, wearing his garrote-equipped watch on the opposite one, but decided to forego his blade-concealing Oxfords in favour of a pair of battered combat boots that had accompanied him ever since his early army days, and all the way across Berlin’s Wall in those past weeks. He slid a couple of rings on his fingers and put two small golden loops in his pierced left ear, his biggest act of defiance against his father when he had turned eighteen, as he told Marcus about the garbage truck and how strangely tight-lipped everyone seemed to be about this weapon trade.

“ _And that’s all you could find?_ ” Marcus asked, sounding both frustrated and astonished at Harry’s words as the latter looked at himself in the mirror. All in all, he did cut a striking figure, but there was something missing.

“Yes. I’ve tried both sides of town, both in the seediest parts and the wealthiest, from museums to sewers, it just seems like nothing is happening - except it is.” Harry said as he reached for his eyeliner pencil, disappearing in the bathroom so he could draw black lines around his eyes in the mirror.

When he returned to the room, he caught the endtail of Marcus’ monologue. “ _...ldiers keep showing up dead, and King is thinking of pulling the plug off the whole operation._ ”

“What? No! Now that I finally have a lead? I’m so close to actually finding something concrete!”

Marcus sighed. “ _It’s not like anything I say can change his mind, you know? With this new intel you got, I reckon he’ll let you gallivant around Germany for about…_ ” The senior agent paused, and Harry imagined him counting on his fingers to make sure he got the right sum, “ _another ten days, maybe two weeks._ ”

Harry cursed and sighed, giving a shrug Marcus couldn’t see. “Then I will have to make the most of these last few days, won’t I?” he said curtly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a cultural event I would most enjoy attending.”

“ _You know this is exactly why King doesn’t want to keep-..._ ”

“Over and out.” He closed the line before Marcus could protest, picked a black blazer from the wardrobe, and headed out, careful to remember picking up his camera. The concert was close enough to the Wall he might see something of interest, perhaps someone trying to use it as a cover to go from side to side, and since the camera also took night pictures without need for a flash and doubled as a tape recorder… it could be useful even if nothing happened, really.

After all, a concert was a concert, and he would love to record at least one song.

As soon as Harry arrived to the front of the bar he had visited earlier to meet with his new German acquaintances, he regretted his decision to join them: the moment one of them clapped eyes on him, the contents of a glass were thrown at him and Harry panicked for a split second. He shut his eyes tightly and turned around to try and avoid whatever they were attacking him with, but despite that ended up sputtering and shaking his head like a wet dog while the others laughed.

When he opened his eyes, Harry realised he hadn’t been doused with acid or poison, but rather… glitter.

He was covered in glitter head to toe: caught in his hair and on his chest, clinging to his lashes and cheeks, making his black blazer shine like a clear night sky and his legs sparkle like the Milky Way. He was covered in stardust.

Harry joined the German youth in their laughter, throwing his head back and calling them crazy in a hesitant German, shouldering one of the boys for their trouble as they hurried up to Platz der Republik where a stage had been built. To their dismay, the place was already so crowded they could barely see the people moving around the stage, setting up the final details and preparing the instruments and lights for the show. They tried to push further on, but the sea of people didn’t let them through and so they settled to wait there, regretting not arriving sooner even though it was clear some of the spectators must have been waiting to get a nice spot for hours.

Despite the distance, Harry had never felt quite as excited as he did right then and there - and he had jumped out of a number of planes and high story windows without a parachute in his life. They weren’t sure how long it would take before the concert would start, and they decided to make small talk with Harry, enjoying his accent and laughing sometimes at his worse pronunciation errors, not unkindly.

About seventy minutes went by like that, as the sky turned dusky and the noise from the crowd grew, excitement frissoning through people like an almost tangible wave.

Harry laughed at something one of the young men - Peter - said, throwing his head back in mirth. He didn’t usually let his defenses down so much, but for the first time in many years he had decided to be _himself_ , and not a spy always watching his back, at least for a few hours.

Then the crowd started screaming, and he turned around to check what had caused the commotion: that’s when he saw _him_ , dressed in a beautiful red suit. Getting on the stage, waving at them, sitting on a silver chair and leaning towards the microphone to greet the whole of Berlin in effortless German while the first notes of “Glass Spider” started to play.

Harry was sure his heart was going to shoot straight out of his chest, because _David fucking Bowie_ had wished him a good night of fun. Him, and many thousands of people, but it was still more than his brain could handle at the moment and Harry started wooping in delight alongside the rest of the gathered crowd, clapping his hands until they hurt and jumping as much as he could as the songs followed one after the other.

Everyone sang to them like one voice, moving like one pulsing heart, and Harry couldn’t remember ever being as happy as right in that moment, with his arms slung around strangers’ shoulders as they swayed to the rhythm. He felt like he belonged, even if he knew he was in a sea of strangers. It was almost magical, and Harry wouldn’t have expected anything else from a Bowie concert, promising to himself he would do his best to attend many more in the future.

When the first part ended and the stage cleared for a brief interlude, the ecstasy was still palpable despite how exhausted everyone was. Harry had to actually excuse himself from his friends to get some respite, and he decided to wander away from the thick of the crowd to get some fresh air.

He walked closer to the Wall, where people were a bit more sparse, as if they were afraid of approaching too much, even if it was clear most of the guards had given up on their patrol to listen to the concert, sporting big grins on their faces as their weapons hung inoffensively from the slings around their shoulders. They had gathered in small groups of two or three, and long stretches of the Wall were left unguarded, but still people kept their distance. Only a few were brave enough to actually lean against it or stand less than a couple of feet from the concrete barrier, but at least it was easier to breathe there than in the stifling heat of the dense crowd.

Harry looked up at the Wall, and he was sure he could hear cheerful voices coming from the other side. He felt foolish for not thinking about it before, but of course the concert, so close to the Wall, would be loud enough to be heard all the way in East Berlin. He wondered how many more people were gathered on the other side, and he put a hesitant hand on the graffitied surface of the imposing Wall, looking up and trying not to feel too intimidated - because it was ridiculous. And yet…

Night had mostly fallen all around the square, and the lights on the stage flickered to signal the show was about to reprise. Harry took a step back and turned around to watch as David Bowie reappeared to the deafening cheers of the sea of people, another song starting as he began flying around the stage, mesmerising the concert-goers and causing many to go into a frenzy of excitement.

Looking briefly at the crowd, Harry wondered if it was worth trying to go back to his companions, before doing a double take as his eyes caught on a figure standing on the fringe of the crowd.

A young man, as tall as him, with short black hair sticking up in every direction as if it were comb-proof. He wore a simple leather jacket and dark jeans, well worn Converse sneakers on his feet, a broad grin on a face that seemed unused to smiling quite that much.

Harry’s heart kicked up in his chest and he reached in his pocket to pull his camera out and snatch a few pictures, before tucking it back in place after he had pressed the hidden recording button. He took a deep breath, and then approached the person he recognised, without any doubt, as Merlin.

It was clear he had let his guard down as well, because it took him a few moments to react despite Harry standing less than a few inches away from him. When their eyes met, the music samed to fade a bit in the background, and for a frozen instant Harry thought Merlin was going to bolt.

Instead, Merlin’s smile was downgraded to a smirk as he turned to face Harry fully.

“Mr Hart. Fancy meeting you here.”

Harry couldn’t help but be dumbfounded. Of all the places he had expected to find Merlin…

“This is a nice change from Lady Di’s wedding,” Merlin continued at his silence, his grin broadening once more in amusement.

“Yes, well. I’d wager it’s as weird as seeing you with hair,” Harry conceded, tilting his head to the side. He thought, quickly: he had his watch and could use it in a fight, if needed, but he didn’t know whether Merlin was armed or not. He scanned the man’s thin body, finding his muscles a bit thicker than they were on their first meeting, the cotton of his black v-neck shirt pulling a bit over his chest; even unarmed it would be risky to engage in a one on one fight, they would be evenly matched if Merlin had studied hand to hand combat - not to mention they were surrounded by civilians.

“I don’t see why shaving when I don’t need to,” Merlin shrugged simply.

“Mmh, shame. The look suited you. Very… Bond-villainesque.”

“Still living life like you’re in a movie, then?” the younger man said with a chuckle, his brogue soft but his voice catching as if he had been singing at the top of his lungs with the rest of the people present at the concert.

“Hardly,” Harry replied, raising an eyebrow. “If we were in a movie, I would feel no remorse over fighting with you in the middle of this crowd to take you down.”

Merlin chuckled. “Oh, what a shame we’ve met in public. I would have loved to best you in single combat.”

Harry bit down on his bottom lip to rein a smile in. “What are you doing here?” he asked instead after a beat.

Merlin tilted his head, then briefly looked over at a still singing David Bowie before looking at Harry again. “I’m a fan. Though I have to say, the whole glam rock fashion thing never really appealed to me… until now.” His eyes dragged slowly along Harry’s body, and the spy felt a blush creep to his cheeks.

Harry reached forward and grabbed Merlin by the arm, pulling him away from the crowd; the man didn’t resist, following easily until Harry was pressing his back against the Wall, keeping him there by the shoulders.

“Don’t play games with me. You ran once, but I won’t let that happen again,” Harry said, sternly, a threat in his voice.

Merlin tried to stifle a laugh, but it still bubbled up in his throat and he tilted his head back, letting it thump gently against the unyielding concrete. “I’m sorry, I’m having quite a hard time taking you seriously. Did you know you have some glitter on you?” he said, and Harry pushed him harder against the Wall.

“You think MI6 doesn’t know about your connections to the IRA?” he asked, his tone harsh. “We know you were behind the Harrods bombing-”

“No.” Merlin’s voice was stern, any trace of amusement wiped from his face. “I tried to warn the authorities, it’s not my fault they were bloody morons who did nothing. It’s not my fault lives were lost.”

That was more than Harry had expected to get Merlin to admit, but he still pushed his luck and tried to get more out of him. “But you are affiliated to the IRA, aren’t you? That’s how you knew about it.”

Merlin scoffed and turned his face away from Harry, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment. “I can assure you, that’s the first and last time I trust anyone other than myself. They said they were going against authorities to get their independence, and then they started targeting _civilians_.”

There was enough venom in his voice to make a lesser man shrink back, but not Harry. It did, however, make him loosen his grip on the man’s shoulders. “Is that your thing, then? Fight the power but only if no innocents are involved?” It sounded strangely idealistic.

“Believing innocents can be spared the atrocities of revolution as the world is changed for the better is for fools. But I would rather have them choose whether they want act or not, rather than be passive victims of violence,” Merlin explained.

It made sense, strangely so. But Harry pressed on, “And by that you mean you would rather provide them with weapons and let them do the dirty work for you,” he stated, waiting to see Merlin’s reaction, but the young man was impossible to read.

It was terribly frustrating, especially when Merlin’s dark eyes met his own and seemed to pin him in place, despite Harry being the one holding the other man down. This time it was Harry’s turn to scoff, and he did so without reserve.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re probably way off the mark,” Merlin said calmly, and Harry wanted to see that composure break - he wanted to see him in one of Vauxhall’s interrogation rooms, see if he could keep his mask on then. Merlin tilted his head back again, this time so he could look at Harry down his nose; his lips were slightly parted, and the very tip of his tongue traced the bottom one as if he was thinking carefully on his next words, catching Harry’s attention for a moment. “You can’t tell me you believe the Wall is a good thing.”

Harry hesitated. He didn’t, but… “War treaties are war treaties and must be enabled. The Wall has to stand…”

“That’s a load of crap,” Merlin cut him off, barely refraining rolling his eyes. “Words copied from a history book. It’s fucking unfair and you know it. People on the other side are dying, while here there’s so much wealth it sickens me.”

The topic touched a sore spot, Harry realised, but he didn’t push on it. He knew Merlin was right. “What do you think you’re going to get from arming a group of rebels? So they’ll kill a few guards - then what? It won’t bring the Wall down.”

“It’s a start,” Merlin said. “You must have noticed the protests around town. The graffiti, the unhappy people who miss their families, the way the guards are just a wee bit too trigger happy on the other side.”

He couldn’t lie, because Harry had. But what Merlin was doing was _wrong_.

“And you’re taking justice into your own hands? Or, putting it in theirs, more like.”

“Nae, nothing like that. I’m just giving a hand. On two fronts, actually,” Merlin added.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he inquired, confused. Was Merlin stirring troubles somewhere else, too?

He got a shrug as a response, and grabbed the lapels of Merlin’s jacket in retaliation.

“If you’re planning on stirring up a war, I swear I’ll take you down here and now,” Harry hissed, teeth bared, their faces inches apart now.

A roaring applause took over the fading music, and there were a few seconds of silence during while Merlin looked at Harry with raised eyebrows, like he couldn’t believe Harry had just said the stupidest thing on Earth. Then, the next song started playing, and Merlin smiled.

“I’m just making sure the IRA doesn’t have everything they need to actually be a problem while making sure the people of East Berlin do,” he said.

This time, Harry was the one to look surprised, and he stared at Merlin for a long moment while the music and words swirled all around them. Was Merlin getting the weapons he smuggled into East Berlin by stealing them from the bloody _IRA_? Was it revenge because they had killed a few civilians years back, or because they had made a fool of him by lying about their intentions?

Whatever the answer, Harry would never find out. He didn’t even get to ask his question, because Merlin started to sing.

“ _I, I wish I could swim. Like the dolphins, like dolphins can swim_ …”

Harry bit his lips, trying not to smile and not to blush at the same time, while also trying to resist singing along to Bowie’s “Heroes”.

He found it was an impossible feat, and so followed suit on Merlin’s cue, “ _Though nothing, nothing will keep us together_ …”

Merlin laughed then, and Harry’s grip on the leather of the Scotsman’s jacket relented as he allowed himself a chuckle, while the other continued, “ _We can beat them, forever and ever_!”

Harry joined him this time, and together they sang, “ _Oh we can be Heroes, just for one day_!”

The music drowned their laughter as they leaned even closer, Harry holding his stomach at the sheer impossibility of the situation: there he was, at a Bowie concert in Berlin, coughing up glitter and singing along to “Heroes” with the man he was supposed to bring down as per his mission - a villainous fiend who was surely going to stir troubles with Russia.

He wondered what Merlin was making of the situation, but when he looked up he found the man staring at him with an impossibly stupid grin on his face and eyes so dark Harry could see his reflection even in the flash of the dancing lights.

“ _I, I can remember (I remember)... standing, standing by the Wall (by the Wall)_!” the song went on, David Bowie’s passion sending a shiver down Harry’s spine even as he found himself mesmerised by the man in front of him.

“ _And the guns shot above our heads (over our heads)_!”

Merlin reached forward, cupping both his cheeks and dragging their faces closer. Harry’s breath caught in his throat and he felt ridiculous for it, even more so when he closed his eyes and pulled Merlin closer by his lapel, closing the distance between them.

“ _And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall)! And the shame... the shame fell on the other side_!”

Merlin kissed like a man starving, and Harry felt like the whole world could have exploded around him and he wouldn’t have noticed.

“ _Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever! We can be Heroes... just for one day - whatcha say? I'll say_ …”

Harry clung onto Merlin, as if letting go would leave him adrift in the middle of the sea, returning his kiss with passion, a soft moan escaping his lips when the man’s large hand carded through his hair. He pressed closer until he had crowded Merlin against the Wall, as all around them the air echoed with the last words to the song,

“ _We could be Heroes - I say that! We could be Heroes - and you say! We could be Heroes… Just for one day_.”

They parted as the crowd cheered again from both sides of the Wall, and Harry had to blink a few times in the hopes of not looking as dazed as he felt, even though he could see a matching expression on Merlin’s face, his eyes half lidded and his lips parted around harsh breaths.

Another song started, and Harry felt his cheeks flush red. He took a step back as if he’d burned himself, and cleared his throat as he let go of Merlin, trying to straighten his own jacket - only to start snickering like a child at the sight of the Scotsman.

“What?” Merlin asked, a perplexed frown turning his open face into a more severe one.

“Nothing, it’s just…” Harry bit his bottom lip, and sniggered again. He gestured at the front of Merlin’s black shirt.

The man looked down and groaned as he took notice of the way he was now covered in glitter he rubbed off of Harry.

“I suppose I deserve that,” Merlin said, a rumble of laughter leaving his throat as well.

“That you do. You didn’t even buy me a drink first, how ungentlemanly of you.”

Silence fell between them, but it was surprisingly less awkward than Harry would have thought. He went to lean against the Wall, next to Merlin, and together they sang along to the last few songs while some of the guards eyed them curiously. From where they were standing, their voices joined the chorus from behind the Wall rather than than the one of the crowd in the square, and they spent the rest of the concert like that, shoulder to shoulder.

When the encores were over and the music stopped, they waited for a while as the crowd dispersed; neither felt like being stuck in the moving mass, and - honestly, although he would never admit it - Harry didn’t want to leave the other yet.

He was conflicted. His job was to take him in, to arrest Merlin and get him back to London, but at the same time… he had no evidence against the man. A good lawyer could contest his claims that Merlin had tried to take Margaret Thatcher’s life, since Harry had been the only one there to see him aim his rifle at the church, and what Merlin was doing in Berlin was pure speculation… at least until Harry found something solid.

After a few minutes, Merlin lit a cigarette and offered another to Harry. He accepted, and Merlin leaned closer to press the burning tip of his own against Harry’s, looking into his eyes as he set the tobacco and paper aflame. Harry refused to feel self conscious and met his stare dead on. Then, Merlin smirked and leaned back, puffing out some smoke as he took a step back.

“I’d better leave before you decide to actually try and fight me,” he said, tilting his head to the side in a curious gesture.

Harry huffed and took a drag. “You really should. I’ve been told I’m very fickle.”

Neither mentioned the kiss, and Harry was sure they never would.

“Oh, then I should really hurry,” Merlin said sardonically.

“Mmh. Next time you won’t find me in such an indulgent mood,” Harry assured him, making Merlin laugh.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” he replied, taking another step back.

Harry was about to let him leave, but before he could disappear, he called after him.

“That’s what I’m going to tell my boss, then? That you were just here to attend a Bowie concert?”

Merlin was a few steps too far to catch now, but Harry could still see his smirk and hear his statement when he answered, “Oh, heavens, no. I work part-time as a garbage collector.”

He disappeared in the crowd, and Harry threw his head back and laughed. Oh, the devious little shit.

* * *

The following morning, Harry was waiting by the garbage pit in East Berlin, pretending to be a lost tourist.

Merlin wasn’t there, of course he wasn’t, but Harry watched from a distance as some boxes were sneaked off the garbage trucks while the guards pretended not to see; he then followed them from afar until they were left in a basement he had little troubles breaking in, squeezing his way in through a tiny window that was level with the street.

Once he managed to open one of the boxes, he found there were a few guns stashed among what seemed to be… military grade provisions?

Harry burst another crate open, staring at fresh produce and fruits. Another crate yielded more guns, and medical supplies. Yet another was stashed full of sealed water bottles.

Careful not to be seen, Harry left the basement, his head spinning at the revelation. Was it a trap? Had Merlin changed the shipment to trick Harry into thinking this was just the norm, or was he actually sending supplies, rather than just guns? But when would he had the time to do that? Or was the man just three steps ahead of Harry? Unless, of course, he had been serious the previous night, and had meant what he had said at the concert - that he just wanted the people to have the freedom to choose whether they wanted to act or not, and leaving them the ability to defend themselves if needed?

Harry tried to make sense of it all, but found he couldn’t. The only thing that seemed reasonable enough to be the truth was exactly what Merlin had told him.

 _But why would he tell the truth?_ , he wondered, before a voice in his head supplied, _Because he knew you wouldn’t believe it, unless you saw the evidence for yourself._ That was why Merlin had told him about his “job” as a garbage collector, whether that was true or not.

Harry spent far longer than it was safe in that basement, trying to wrap his mind around everything. Then he took some pictures of his findings, closed the crates and left.

He wandered around Berlin for a few hours, raking his brain to find the answer to the Merlin riddle, but he came up empty handed. Whenever he tried to think on the man’s real motives, all he could come up with was that the man was, simply put, a _good_ person. And that just wasn’t possible, was it?

It was during his wanderings that he walked in front of a newsstand and came to a halt. There, sitting pretty on the stand racks, was the day’s paper. Harry approached, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest as he took in the front page, where a German title talked about “The Bowie Effect” over a black and white picture of two men kissing against the Berlin Wall.

A picture of _them_.

Harry took the paper and looked closely at the picture, but they were pressed so close to each other, their faces partially covered by Merlin’s hands, that it was impossible to identify them. He paid the man and decided that, even though he had failed in his mission and it wasn’t The Sun, he was still going to keep that front page.

* * *

“Well, that was brutal,” Marcus said the moment Harry stepped out of the briefing room, and Harry immediately wanted to throttle him.

“Please, save it,” he said through gritted teeth as he loosened his tie, heading to his office at a brisk pace, not wanting to listen to any more patronising comments. He had received enough from their other colleagues, both their peers and their boss, especially the latter.

Chester had wasted no time letting Harry know what he thought of him - of his foolishness, his naïvety, his stubbornness - and of how they should’ve known better than to send a young agent on such a sensitive mission. Harry’s senior agents had wasted little breath with him, but their gazes held nothing but _told you so_ s and judgements. He didn’t need Marcus to add to that, especially because he was fairly sure that Chester’s berating had been audible well outside the door, where Marcus had been waiting for him.

But really, what irked Harry far more than all the unsolicited commentary was that he wasn’t sure what to make of Merlin. He was angry at himself for letting him get away, and he was furious with the man for being so mysterious. Any other villain Harry had faced had been a megalomaniac with little interests besides wealth and power, but Merlin… Merlin seemed to _care_.

“Hey, calm down, tiger,” Marcus said placatingly, only earning himself a glare from a thoroughly unimpressed Harry. “For what it matters, I think you made the right call.”

Harry paused in his steps and looked at Marcus, confused. “You do?”

Marcus shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. “Yes. It would have been no good to get Merlin there. It's likely you wouldn’t have been given clearance for transport from the German secret services, and they would have taken the case, which would’ve pissed King off even more, for one thing. But more than that, you knew it would be risky to bring him in, because even if you managed to do that, with as little proof as you had he would’ve walked free, and that would’ve just served to make him warier.”

Harry looked at the other man, and not for the first time he glanced at his soulmark, peeking just above where his hand disappeared in his pocket. It was still a hummingbird rather than an umbrella, but not for the first time Harry wondered how someone could be so well matched for you without being the person you were meant to be with.

“At least someone has to understand, I suppose,” Harry shrugged.

Marcus nodded, and they started walking again. “It’s a pity that the recording device couldn’t pick up the conversation you reported. That would’ve been enough to nail him.”

“Mmh. Yeah,” Harry replied, distracted. It was true that the tape hadn’t captured anything useful for their investigation, to Harry’s frustration, but at the same time he found that maybe it was for the best. Otherwise, everyone would have heard him merrily snog his mark.

They arrived in front of Harry’s office and he ducked inside with a wave of his hand, promising to go out for a drink later that day to let some steam off, but for now a report was required and sadly those things didn’t write themselves yet.

Truth be told, Harry was glad for the excuse to get some time alone. He had written most of his mission report already, but needed to wind down on his own from the meeting or he would be punching the walls before long.

He sat at his desk and opened his drawer. Inside, under the facial composite that didn’t look much like the man he had met anymore and the German newspaper he hadn’t yet gotten around to bring home, was his Walkman. He hadn’t been able to use it much in Berlin, always needing to be alert, but now he allowed himself a moment to relax and popped a cassette inside the player as he leaned back into his chair. He put the earbuds on and plugged them in, then pressed play and closed his eyes, letting the noise of the cheering crowd bring him back. As David Bowie’s “Heroes” played on, he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb over the soulmark on his wrist, thinking of dark eyes, a wicked smile, and glittering stardust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy _fuck_ I'm feeling feels
> 
> So, the concert scene is the moment I realised that this story wasn't going to be a collection of snippets from mission to mission, like I'd intended, but a fic that turned out to be way longer than I expected - because I went from "Mmh, I could write a bit in Berlin, a couple of years before the Wall fell?" to "holy cannoli there was a David Bowie concert there that year?!" and I just _had_ to write them sharing their first kiss at a David Bowie concert. It was too beautiful to pass up. I just hope I made the scene justice!
> 
> Real life and some Kingsman bangs kept me from updating for a bit, and this chapter fought me for a bit there in the middle - when I realised I had no idea how Berlin actually was in 1987. Thankfully I found [this godsend of an article](http://www.nytimes.com/1987/05/10/travel/berlin-1937-berlin-1987.html?pagewanted=all) (thank you, New York Times archives!) that, as you'll see if you read it, gave me a lot of info and ideas about the direction this chapter took.
> 
> Other sources I used were this [Wikipedia page](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glass_Spider_Tour#Song_selection) detailing the "Glass Spider" tour concerts (although I definitely wasn't there, so who knows) and, of course, by watching [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0C7FlnBt1q4) of the concert.
> 
> Also, in case any of you has troubles imagining young!Merlin with hair... [keep this](http://sankhara2007.tumblr.com/post/172379469276/young-mark-strong) as a reference ;)
> 
> PS: there really was a call before the Harrods bombings, except I doubt Merlin was involved...


End file.
